


Sick Day

by passionslipsaway



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Cuddling, Dryad!Eurydice, F/M, Nobody Dies because I said so, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, another installment in my ever-growing "hermes and/or persephone help orphydice out" universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 04:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionslipsaway/pseuds/passionslipsaway
Summary: Orpheus wakes up with a terrible cold one winter morning. Eurydice takes care of him.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> yikes sorry for blowing up the archive this week. this has been chilling on my computer for like, months and i'm just now getting around (read: procrastinating) to finishing it. 
> 
> this is just a pointless fluffy piece for an idea ive had for like forever. hopefully it's not too boring lmao. 
> 
> un-beta'd this time. i read it through 3 times but there's probably still typos--sorry!
> 
> there's also a mention of vomit but nobody actually throws up.

Snow fell outside, drifting down to the ground and piling up on the branches of the trees that surrounded Orpheus and Eurydice’s one-room house. It had been about three months since the goddess Persephone had left, taking the summertime and sunshine with her, and winter was in full swing. A mere few years ago, that might have meant empty stomachs and barren kitchens, but since the seasons had been brought back into tune, the harvest lasted longer. The world had enough to eat during the colder months and much less reason to worry. However, that didn’t mean everyone enjoyed the cold, necessarily.

Eurydice shivered under the covers. It was still early morning and neither she nor Orpheus needed to be at work for at least a few more hours—the benefits of having a nighttime job, she supposed. After all, she had never been an early riser. She _could _get up now, turn on the fireplace, make breakfast, get a head-start on the day’s chores, but none of that sounded particularly appealing, not when their bed was so warm, and the rest of their home was nearly as frigid as the weather outside. Eurydice buried herself deeper into the sheets, rolling over once so she could snuggle into her husband’s chest. Even through the thick material of the sweater Orpheus had worn to bed, she could feel him, solid and warm. He hadn’t woken up all the way yet, either, but when she nuzzled into him, his head lolled sleepily to the side so that it rested on his wife’s, lips pressed into her hair. 

This was a standard morning for the two of them. Eurydice usually woke up first, and in the quiet moments while Orpheus was still asleep, she curled into her poet. Sometimes, she would tangle their legs together, and kiss along his jaw until he finally stirred. Other times, Eurydice would let him rest, watching him sleep, warm and content under their layers and layers of blankets. Once awake, they both resisted leaving their bed until growling stomachs and the need to prepare for the impending day made that no longer possible. There was always more to be done during the wintertime, anyways—the fire needed to be made, breakfast had to be prepared, clothes washed… But, right now, all of that could wait. At least for another hour or so. 

Eurydice sighed contentedly, her husband’s steady breathing already lulling her back to sleep.

It was, unfortunately, not meant to be. Suddenly, Orpheus heaved a rough cough from deep in his chest, startling them both wide awake. Eurydice sat up immediately, turning to watch as Orpheus’ body shook with a series of awful hacks. 

“Gods, Orpheus, are you okay? You sound terrible,” She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The latter part of her sentence was cut off as Orpheus continued coughing.

He quieted down after a few moments and, still lying down in their bed, placed a hand on his chest, as if to quiet himself. 

“’M fine,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Eurydice frowned. She could hear at once how gravely his voice sounded, which was all the more startling considering how soft and melodic it usually was. She went to brush back his hair from his forehead, which she now noticed was dampened with sweat. 

“That didn’t sound fine—oh, Orpheus, you’re burning up!”

Orpheus shivered in response. He didn’t feel hot at all—in fact, he was freezing. He went to pull the covers up around himself. Something was _definitely_ not fine.

Eurydice hopped out of their bed and padded over to their fireplace. It took a few tries to light a match with her hands shaking from the cold, but she eventually got a small fire going. She adjusted the logs carefully. Winter was the one time Eurydice was glad their house was so small, since it didn’t take long to heat up.

It looked like she was going to get that early start after all.

Turning away from the fire, she shuffled over to the stove, filled one of their kettles with water and set it to heat. While it warmed up, she went to sit on the edge of their bed by Orpheus and took his hand that was resting on his chest, noticing how clammy it felt.

“I’m gonna make you some tea, okay?” Eurydice told him. Orpheus nodded, his eyes still closed.

Less than two years ago, Eurydice would have never thought she’d be up early, making tea for anyone, let alone her husband, who was almost certainly coming down with a nasty cold. It had taken her while to adjust to that kind of domesticity, and the impossibility of it all still struck her sometimes. She had only ever needed to watch out for herself for most of her life, having spent a good portion of it on the road, alone.

Meeting Orpheus—and, to an extent, Hermes, Persephone, and the workers they’d helped free from Hadestown—had changed all of that. Now, her husband was her whole world. She’d do anything for him. That realization that had terrified Eurydice at first, made her feel vulnerable, and it’d taken time before she could understand that here, with Orpheus, she was safe. He’d never do anything to hurt her. In turn, she was protective of him in a way she had never been for anyone else before, couldn’t imagine letting anything happen to him.

Needless to say, Eurydice was more than a little worried right now.

The kettle whistled, and Eurydice rushed over to turn off the stove. She quickly poured the hot water into a mug and plopped a tea bag inside along with three spoonful’s of honey. She also set aside a mug for herself to fix later. Normally, Eurydice preferred coffee in the mornings, needing something stronger to wake her up, but her husband loved tea—with plenty of honey and sugar, of course—and she figured she’d save time and make it for them both. The drink had slowly been growing on her, anyhow.

From behind her, Orpheus was attempting to sit up. He was sick, but that didn’t mean his wife should be going out their morning chores all by herself.

“Eurydice, let me help with—” he started, but was unable to finish before another round of deep coughs forced their way up from his chest.

“Oh no, you don’t—get back in bed,” Eurydice said, quickly turning around. Orpheus groaned but relented as she forced him back under their covers. Eurydice should have known he’d be stubborn about this—Orpheus wasn’t in the habit of just doing nothing for any length of time. It was going to be difficult to convince him to stay put, she could tell.

Returning to their bed, this time with the mug of tea in hand, Eurydice sat on her side and leaned down and pressed her lips against Orpheus’ forehead, checking his temperature.

“You definitely have a fever, Love,” she brushed back his hair again and rested the back of her palm against his cheek. “How do you feel otherwise?” 

Orpheus made a small noise in discomfort as he moved to take the warm mug and rested it on his stomach. It felt like there was dirt in his mouth and throat. 

“Hurts to talk,” he barely managed.

He ached everywhere. He was freezing, but also sweating—that didn’t make any sense. His head was pounding, too. Every time he breathed, his lungs protested, and he risked triggering another coughing fit. Worst of all, his throat burned, and it was painful to even talk, much less to sing, which wasn’t good at all because—oh.

Orpheus gasped and sat up quickly, splashing hot tea on their covers but thankfully missing himself and his wife. 

“The bar—the show! I have to play tonight, and work—” Orpheus began, his voice hoarse and frantic, before he was cut off by more coughing.

Eurydice winced at the noise. She quickly took the mug of tea from his hands and set it on their nightstand, shaking her head. “Oh, absolutely not. You’re not going _anywhere_.”

Orpheus wheezed, “But—”

“Orpheus, you sound horrible. Besides, it’s the dead of winter,” Eurydice reminded him, casting a quick glance outside through the window, where it was still snowing. “No one is going to riot if you miss one night. There’s hardly anyone there lately, anyways.”

The poet groaned, laying back down. Eurydice was right; he’d been playing to half-empty rooms all winter, not that he cared. The bar still made money, and Orpheus would play even if there was no one there at all… but he couldn’t sing like this. He was pretty sure he couldn’t even stand for the throbbing in his head and aching in his body. Still, he hated letting Mr. Hermes and the patrons down.

As if his wife knew what he was thinking (and she probably did), she stroked his hair and said, “I know you love playing, but you can hardly even talk right now.”

Eurydice saw him opening his mouth again to protest and shushed him. “And we’re fine on money, too. Trust me, Love, you’re not letting anyone down. Promise.”

Orpheus sighed and settled back into the pillows. Then, he motioned silently for the mug Eurydice had set aside, and she passed it to him. He began to sip it and she kissed his temple.

Eurydice racked her brain for solutions. She had never had to care for a sick person before, aside from herself, sort of. Dryads didn’t take ill easily, and Eurydice supposed she had inherited at least half of that, like all her other dryad traits. She was usually able to make it through the winter with a few sniffles at the worst. Starvation and frostbite had been her real enemies. Orpheus, however—whatever his real parentage was—was clearly still susceptible to the flu. And she was currently trying to figure out how best to handle that.

Eurydice chewed her lip and watched Orpheus finish drinking his tea. As soon as she took the mug from his hands, he stuck his arms back under the covers, shivering again.

“How’s that feel? Better?” she asked. He nodded. “Do you want to eat anything? We’re up, so I guess I should make breakfast.” She stroked his cheek gently even though she knew it’d be just as warm as before.

Orpheus shook his head and sniffled, smiling slightly.

“’S okay,” he said, his voice only a whisper. “`M not hungry.”

Eurydice nodded in response and traced her thumb once more over his cheek. She kissed him there lightly. “Okay.”

She stood up then, leaving Orpheus laying in their bed, and walked to the small bathroom. She rummaged about in their cabinet and drawers, already knowing there was no medicine to be found. They’d prepared for nearly everything else when it came to winter, but somehow not this. Determined to do what she could, Eurydice wet a washcloth with cold water and walked back to the bed. On her way, she pulled out a clean sweater and pajama pants from their dresser with one hand, sitting them down on the bed beside Orpheus.

Beginning to dab the rag on his face and forehead, Eurydice said, “This might help a bit with the fever, at least.” Orpheus hummed. 

Eurydice sighed and frowned. He looked pitiful—his skin was ashen instead of its usual soft pale color, his eyes were dull and glassy, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. She hoped this cold just lasted a day or two and wasn’t not something more serious. She hadn’t been lying when she said they were fine on money, but what that really meant was that they had just enough to live as they were and that was it. Eurydice didn’t know how expensive a doctor’s visit would be, but it most likely wasn’t within their means. And of course, most of all, she didn’t want it to get worse for Orpheus’ sake—she knew how hard it’d be for him to miss even one night of playing music. Singing was everything to him, he needed like he needed to breathe or sleep.

Setting the cloth aside, Eurydice said, “I’m gonna fix you some more tea. Why don’t you change out of these pajamas—you’re all sweaty.” She wrinkled her nose and playfully tapped his forehead. Orpheus smiled and nodded—the only response he was capable of at the moment.

While Eurydice turned back to the stove, Orpheus sat up and gingerly began stripping off his sweaty pajamas, wincing at how moving at all seemed to make his aches worse. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he felt this terrible, maybe the day after one of Persephone’s parties. But this was different than the headache that came with drinking too much wine. And it was much worse. He hadn’t been sick in a very long while.

As Orpheus was pulling his head through the clean sweater, Eurydice sat down on the bed next to him with a new mug of tea. He smiled and nodded in thanks when he took it from her.

“If you tell me specifically what’s wrong, I can try to stop by the market on the way to work,” Eurydice offered, “see if that old lady who’s always hawking herbal remedies and whatnot at us has something worth buying for this.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, she knew, but it’d be cheap.

Orpheus grinned, and opened his mouth to speak, but frowned when no sound came out. He tried again, but his words were now just an unintelligible whisper.

He looked immediately to Eurydice, face slightly panicked, and motioned at his throat. He mouthed something that Eurydice couldn’t catch.

“Oh—oh um, uh,” Eurydice scanned their apartment for a solution, now even more anxious than she had been. 

Orpheus grabbed her shoulder, pointing to his notebook sitting on their kitchen table.

“Oh! Right—good idea,” she said, hopping up to grab the notebook and hand it to Orpheus, who flipped to a blank page and started scribbling in it immediately with a pencil from their nightstand.

_Can’t talk _he wrote first in his slanted scrawl and showed it to his wife.

Eurydice almost rolled her eyes. “Yes, I can see that. What else?”

Orpheus nodded, wiped a hand across his nose, then wrote something else. Eurydice leaned over to see.

_Headache. Throat hurts. Back hurts. _

Orpheus drew a line through the last part and amended: _Everything hurts. _

Eurydice gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is that all?”

Orpheus nodded and sniffled, wiping his nose again. Eurydice made a mental note to add his runny nose to the list.

She kissed the top of his head, then, and said, “Alright. You get back in bed. I’m gonna see what I can do at the market this afternoon.” She tore the single page out of the notebook and set it aside.

Orpheus did as he was told, and Eurydice helped wrap him in the quilted covers of their bed.

“Tea’s there, if you want it. It might help your throat, at least.” Eurydice said.

She was trying to remain calm, but Orpheus could tell she was concerned. He hated that she was so worried about him, and almost more than that, he hated that he couldn’t speak properly to ease her anxiety. In Orpheus’ opinion, Eurydice worried entirely too much—about him, about money, about the seasons. He understood why, but he also did everything he could to help that, to show her that things were never as bad as they seemed.

Orpheus grabbed his notebook from the nightstand and wrote something down. He waved to get the attention of his wife, who was currently preparing herself breakfast. Eurydice turned and walked over to the bed to look at what he’d written.

_I’ll be fine, _it said, and underneath: _Please don’t worry._

Eurydice smiled at that. “Of course you will. I just… want to be sure, is all.”

Orpheus reached out his hand for Eurydice to take. She did, and he squeezed it, smiling. Then, he flipped the page in his notebook to write something else and showed it to her.

_I love you. _

Eurydice smiled even brighter. “I love you, too,” she said. “Now please, will you get some rest?”

Orpheus nodded, and set the notebook back on the nightstand, settling into their bed. Eurydice pulled the covers back up around him and smoothed them down. 

She leaned in to kiss him once more—before he slept and before she began their chores and went to work—this time, on the mouth. Orpheus pulled back, looking at her, a bit confused.

“Oh—” she realized, laughing slightly. “Don’t worry; I won’t get sick—it’s not easy for dryads to catch human ills,” Eurydice explained.

Orpheus raised his eyebrows in understanding and accepted the kiss from his wife.

“Sleep well, Love.” Eurydice whispered when they broke apart, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

***

Work was slow, unbearably so. It was late afternoon and Eurydice still had an hour and a half left in her shift. Not a soul had come in for the past forty-five minutes and she could count the number of customers she’d spoken to that day on one hand.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Eurydice usually spent slow, winter days at the bar with Orpheus, Hermes, and the small circle of regulars that lived in the town near the railroad line on the road to Hell, swapping stories and chatting about nothing in particular. If she wasn’t doing that, then she was listening to Orpheus while he sang her bits of new songs he was working on and scribbled down verses in his notebook. Because spring and summer were now so busy, the warmer weather drawing more and more travelers each year, Orpheus played at the bar almost every night. This hardly left the poet any time to compose new music during the summer, but he found the lull that the colder months to be a useful time for writing. Eurydice, for her part, usually brought a book with her—she got more reading done at the bar this time of year than at home, even.

Or, on the rare occasion that that the two lovers were the only souls in the place, neither a patron nor a god to be seen, Eurydice would slide away from the bar, take Orpheus’ hand in her own, lead him to the backroom with a mischievous grin, and lock the door behind them. Those were her favorite days, she thought.

On this day, however, Eurydice had neither a husband nor a book to keep her busy—the first of which was laid up in bed, sick as ever. As for the second, she had been too worried about Orpheus to remember to grab something to read. He’d been trying to sneak out of bed all morning, despite being far too dizzy to walk, and Eurydice was concerned he’d try something and hurt himself while she was gone. Currently, she had taken to preoccupying herself with ripping the label off of an empty bottle a customer had left on the bar some time ago while Hermes counted the cash in the register a few feet away. 

With a sigh, Hermes put down a stack of bills on the bar and said, “Alright, you’ve been tearing that thing to bits for the better part of an hour now. Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

Eurydice looked down at the small pile of shreds she’d produced. She tossed them and the bottle into the trash bin nearby and turned to the god.

“What am I gonna do about Orpheus?” she said, waving her arms in an exasperated motion.

Hermes went back to counting the cash. “I already told you, this used to happen to him every winter when he was little. It ain’t nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Maybe I should have stayed home,” Eurydice mused, only half paying attention to her boss. “He looks really bad, Hermes. The poor thing can barely get out of bed, though that doesn’t stop him from trying,” she grumbled.

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

Eurydice leaned on the bar, kicking her boot against the wooden side. She scowled. “Plus, that hag at the market wouldn’t sell me anything for less than twenty pieces, as if anyone has that kind of money during the winter to spend on a bunch of _leaves_ for—” 

Hermes shut the cash register with a bit more force than necessary, interrupting her. Eurydice swore she heard the god mumble something about her being nearly as bad as her husband, but she chose to ignore it.

“Like I said,” Hermes repeated, “it ain’t nothing out of the ordinary, and ain’t nothing that isn’t gonna fix itself in a day or two.”

Eurydice knew he was probably right. Hermes had raised Orpheus, known him longer than she had. She believed the god when he said Orpheus would be fine. Still, it didn’t make her feel any less helpless or any less upset about seeing her husband sick.

“Okay. I mean—I hope so,” she didn’t like worrying like this. It made her feel irrational, silly even. But life had taught Eurydice to expect the worst, so she did. 

She didn’t notice Hermes had moved closer to her until she felt a solid hand on her shoulder. “He’s gonna be fine, Eurydice. I promise.”

The god’s voice was soothing, clearly having had years of experience calming anxious mortals. Sometimes, Eurydice forgot he helped take newly departed souls to Hadestown.

Eurydice nodded and offered Hermes a small, but sincere smile to show she understood.

“Yeah. Guess I’m just… used to worrying is all,” she said, quietly. The god hummed knowingly, seeming to fully consider her words.

“I remember, Gods, must have been nearly fifteen years ago now…” Hermes started. “One year, Orpheus got sick at the start of winter, like always.”

Eurydice raised her head. It was impossible not to be attentive when Hermes was about to tell one of his stories. His eyes were already twinkling, as they always did, and he was staring off at some point in the distance Eurydice couldn’t locate.

“The willful thing would not stay in bed, no matter how many times I told him that he needed rest if he ever wanted to feel better.” The god sighed.

Eurydice smiled slightly at that. _Not much has changed, _she thought.

“Well, Orpheus didn’t listen. He was always up and around, sneaking out of his bedroom to play the lyre or run down to the bar. You know how he is,” Hermes nodded at Eurydice. 

“I do,” Eurydice’s smile grew as she thought about her husband, stubborn and determined from the start, just like she was.

“So, he didn’t get better. In fact, his fever got worse. Now, I told him, Orpheus, you have to sleep, otherwise that fever is gonna cook your brain inside your skull. But he didn’t listen.” Hermes shook his head, a bit dramatically, which amused Eurydice.

“Well, that boy,” the god rolled his eyes, “one evening—don’t ask how he slipped past me into the bar because I still don’t know—he came down here, sweating something awful and looking pale as a ghost, so I asked him what on earth he was doing out of bed, do you know how he answered me?”

Eurydice shook her head. 

Hermes snorted. “Threw up in the nearest customer’s lap is what he did. Gods, the look on that man’s face… I thought he was gonna kill my boy. You bet I scooped that kid up and took him right upstairs. Some of the patrons around here probably still remember that, if you ask ‘em,” Hermes finished and winked. 

By this point, Eurydice had devolved into giggles. She could so easily imagine a little Orpheus stumbling around, so sick as to be nearly delirious. Somehow, Hermes always knew how to make things better.

“Are you _serious_?” she laughed, covering her mouth.

“As ever. So,” he patted her shoulder reassuringly, “trust me, girl, when I say that this ain’t the worst he’s ever seen. Not by a longshot. If nothing else, he’ll at least listen to _you_ and actually get some rest, which it sounds like he has.”

Eurydice nodded, composing herself. “Okay, I believe you. I do.”

“Now, once you get those dishes put away, I’ll send you home early tonight,” Hermes said, stepping back towards the register to finish closing the till. “No sense in keeping you around when it’s deader than winter and you got a man at home that needs you.” The god winked at her again.

Eurydice brightened even more at that, happy at both the prospect of leaving early and getting back to her husband.

“Will do!” she called, pushing off the bar where she was leaning and moving to the other end of the room where there was a heap of washed glasses and plates that needed putting away.

Eurydice spent the next half hour sliding dishes and cups back into place on the shelves below the countertop. It wasn’t particularly interesting work, but it was distracting, and gave her something to do other than worry about her husband.

Just as she was finishing up, Hermes strutted over to where she was. Eurydice pulled herself up and turned to the god.

“All done?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Eurydice replied, eager to get home. 

She made to grab her things and leave, but Hermes stopped her, holding up a hand.

“Hold on, don’t go running off just yet.” He said, and then produced a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Eurydice. 

“What’s this?” she asked, beginning to read. It was a list of different foods with some instructions—a recipe.

“This is for Orpheus,” Hermes explained. “It’s an old recipe, but you should be able to find everything at the market. The cold will pass on its own, but homemade never hurt. And it’ll make enough for both of you. Should raise your spirits, both of your spirits.”

Eurydice raised her eyebrows, not expecting the god of safe travels to know anything about cooking or caring for the sick, but she supposed nearly two decades of watching over Orpheus had provided him with training enough.

She stuffed the slip of paper in her pocket and wrapped her arms around the god’s waist, hugging him. Hermes, while attune to mortal displays of affection, was still a bit disarmed. Eurydice wasn’t one to so openly express her feelings, and certainly not with people who weren’t Orpheus. It was certainly irregular, but somehow not entirely unwanted, not in the slightest. He returned the embrace, patting Eurydice on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Hermes,” she said, pulling back. “For everything.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d helped out her and Orpheus, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. More than anything, Eurydice appreciated that he understood her, and knew when she needed a distraction above anything else.

“Anytime, Sister, anytime.” he smiled. “Now, get on home. If I know Orpheus, and I like to think I do, he’s sure up and at it by now, probably waiting on you.”

Eurydice nodded, already untying her dirty apron, which was identical to the one Orpheus wore, and shoving it in her canvas knapsack. She then shrugged on her heavy coat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Eurydice called and dipped out into the golden twilight.

*** 

After her second trip to the market that day, Eurydice made it home in half the time she usually did, walking as quickly as her legs would carry her. She wanted to escape the cold and get to Orpheus as soon as possible.

She unlocked the door to their small home, careful of the loud creak it usually made as it opened. Stepping inside, she looked immediately to the bed on the other side of the room, where she saw her husband, still peacefully asleep. For once, it seemed Hermes was wrong about Orpheus.

Eurydice entered quietly, avoiding the floorboards she knew would squeak as best she could. She set her knapsack filled with groceries—the recipe Hermes had given her was for soup, she’d realized—on the kitchen counter for later, pulled off her boots, and crept over to their bed, sitting down beside her poet.

Orpheus was curled up on his side, as he sometimes slept, with both arms supporting his chest, where his wife would have been. His hair was a mess, sticking out at all angles on the pillow behind him, and his cheeks were flushed red from fever. Beside him on the bed lay his notebook and a pencil—if he had drifted off while writing, it wouldn’t be the first time. Beads of sweat still clung to his forehead and the rest of his hair was damp, as well. Even so, Eurydice smiled the at the sight. For someone as excitable as Orpheus was, this was the only time he appeared so peaceful. She hated to wake him now, but he probably needed to eat something.

She leaned down and softly pressed a kiss to Orpheus’ cheek, feeling the fuzzy day-old stubble that had already cropped up along his chin. He stirred.

“Sorry,” Eurydice whispered to him as he came to, “I didn’t want to wake you, but...”

“S’okay,” Orpheus croaked and then coughed a few times. He still sounded terrible, but at least his voice was coming back. He blinked his eyes open.

“How’re you feeling, Sleepyhead? Any better?” she asked, stroking his hair.

Orpheus groaned at first, rolling over on his back to face her. He sniffled and shrugged.

“What time s’it?” he whispered, still not fully awake.

“A little after seven. I’m home early, thanks to Hermes.”

Orpheus nodded and grinned. “Missed you.” 

Smiling, Eurydice patted his chest. “I missed you, too. Okay, enough talking from you. I’m going to make dinner for us. And…actually…” she looked him over once, “I think you could use a bath, first.”

A bath didn’t sound bad at all, he thought. Orpheus let Eurydice help him up out of bed and lead them both to the small bathroom. Once inside, Eurydice turned the faucet on, while Orpheus began to strip out of his pajamas. He winced and groaned as he tried to get his sweater over his head. 

“I’ve got it, Love. It’s okay,” she assured him, tugging the sweater off. Eurydice helped him out the rest of his clothes and then into the bath she’d run.

Once inside, Orpheus relaxed, leaning his head against the tile at the back of the tub.

“Water’s okay?” Eurydice asked, testing it with her hand. “I know it’s a little cold. I thought it might bring your fever down a bit.”

Orpheus nodded and hummed in the affirmative. It was cooler than a normal bath would be, but it felt good against his aching muscles and feverish skin. He then leaned forward, resting his head on his knees while Eurydice washed his back, arms, and hair with their soap.

Orpheus knew that only with him did Eurydice show such a soft side of herself. Of course, in the time since they had met, Eurydice had become significantly more open, more sweet—not just with him, but in general. Still, there was that fierceness that came with the life she’d lived that would never leave her completely. That was the side that stepped between Orpheus and shady customers at the market, or rowdy patrons at the bar; the side that always worried when they were low on food, that habitually counted their earnings each night. Most people would never see how caring, how gentle she could be, and while he truly pitied anyone who never got to know his wife as he did, there was some part of Orpheus that liked that Eurydice reserved this tenderness just for him. It made him feel special. Through his feverish haze, it occurred to him how glad he was to have someone like Eurydice to take care of him like this, to know him so well. 

At first, at the very beginning of their relationship, physical intimacy had been something Orpheus was afraid of. For as much of a romantic as he was, the people Orpheus had been with in the past never stuck around for long, leaving him to assume he’d done something wrong, that he’d been too much—that he’d loved too hard, or wasn’t enough. He’d felt confused and abandoned each time. When Eurydice came along, he wanted to do everything he could to make her stay. No one had ever made him feel like Eurydice did, like she’d known him all along, like she understood him. She was special, beautiful, and really, who was he—a poor boy who’d been left behind by nearly every he’d ever known, for one reason or another—to love her? He didn’t want to let her down, or worse, hurt her and drive her away. Thankfully, Eurydice had no issue being physical. When she’d realized how worried he was, she’d taken the lead for both of them, guiding him through everything with her, making him feel wanted and whole for the first time.

Now, as she rubbed a soapy washcloth over his back while he hacked out another fit of coughs, Orpheus knew there was no one else he’d rather have knowing him, his body, his heart. Warmth spread inside of him at the thought.

Normally, Orpheus would have told his wife all of this, never one to hide how he was feeling, and he regretted that he didn’t have the voice to do so. Instead, he offered a hoarse, “Thank you.”

Eurydice splashed cool water over his shoulders and smiled—she didn’t need to ask for what. “Of course, Love.”

They spent the next few moments in comfortable silence, Orpheus content to relax and let his wife take care of him.

Finally, Eurydice said, “Alright. I’m starving, so I’m gonna fix dinner.” She set the washcloth down on the rim of the tub. “You finish up in here, okay?”

Orpheus nodded and smiled at her. Eurydice brushed aside his wet, soapy hair to kiss his forehead before heading to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long to set up a large pot on the stove and get dinner started. The recipe wasn’t difficult to follow, and it wasn’t like Eurydice had never made soup before. When they were first married, her knowledge of cooking was limited to the simplest meals—bread and jam, maybe eggs or an omelette if she felt like using the stove that day. Orpheus faired a bit better in the kitchen, having grown up in a home and with the time and means to learn those things. He was more than happy to teach her the basics, and they both quickly discovered that Eurydice was quite resourceful when it came to their meals. Their first winter hadn’t been easy, and they’d scraped by mostly thanks to her inventiveness and their willingness to eat plain beans and rice for weeks in a row. She could more than handle the soup recipe Hermes had given her.

Along with the ingredients she’d picked up at the market, Eurydice also pulled a small vile of liquid medicine out of her knapsack. She’d gotten it from the pharmacy—it’d been a bit expensive, though probably worth it. Thanks to Hermes, she knew now that the cold would pass in the next day or so, but this would ease her mind, and hopefully, Orpheus’ symptoms. 

When the soup was nearly hot enough to eat, Eurydice heard the bathroom door open and some shuffling behind her as Orpheus dried off and put on another pair of pajamas. Once dressed, he walked up behind her, and Eurydice felt him bend down to tuck his head between her neck and shoulder and wrap his arms around her waist.

“Hmm. Dinner’s almost ready,” Eurydice hummed, closing her eyes and leaning back into Orpheus. He smelled warm and clean, a bit like lavender, and was clearly feeling much more awake after the bath. She smiled as he nuzzled her neck and kissed right below her jaw. Pulling his face close with one hand, she turned her head to kiss him properly. As they kissed, Eurydice felt Orpheus slide one hand down from her waist to cup her ass and squeeze.

Surprised, she yelped and broke away from him, lightly swatting his arm.

“Hey! No, no—you’re sick!” Eurydice chided, giggling.

Orpheus smirked and pressed a quick kiss to her hair before shrugging and flopping back on their bed. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she began ladling the soup into two bowls.

Eurydice brought dinner to the bed, where they usually ate, handing Orpheus his. She set hers aside on the floor for the moment while she stretched her arms, trying to ease the day’s aches and pains.

“Ugh. How is it that work is somehow more exhausting when there’s no one there?” she grumbled and reached under her shirt to undo the bra she’d worn that day, flinging it to the ground. She also took off her socks and rubbed the soles of her feet, which were cramped from being trapped inside her thick winter boots all day.

“Tough to keep yourself busy,” Orpheus whispered, smiling as he spooned hot soup into his mouth. He was always amused by his wife’s post-work routine. 

“Yeah,” Eurydice nodded. “And you weren’t there to help me with that today, either,” she teased, nudging his knee before turning around to pick up her bowl. 

Orpheus looked to her sympathetically. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “Definitely not your fault. I think I just about drove Hermes mad, though, worrying over you and all.”

Orpheus smiled to himself at that, enjoying the mental image of Eurydice talking the long-suffering god’s ear off all day.

“Sorry you had to worry,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice was slowly coming back.

“Hey, stop apologizing,” Eurydice returned, though there was no anger in her it. “And I’ll always worry over you, Orpheus. I love you.”

Orpheus looked up from his bowl at her, grinning. “I love you, too, Eurydice.”

She returned his smile. 

The two lovers ate in silence for the next few minutes. Eurydice wasn’t sure how she had expected the soup to taste, but it wasn’t like anything she’d ever had before. It was hot and sweet and spicy all at once. She could see now why it’d be perfect for a cold. Orpheus seemed all the better for it, much of the color having returned to his face. He was currently pouring the dregs from the bowl straight into his mouth. Eurydice was glad his appetite had returned. 

Putting his bowl down, Orpheus sniffled and said, “Mr. Hermes always made this for me whenever I was sick. It reminds me of cold days in bed, above the bar.” He smiled at the memories.

“I got the recipe from him. He said that you were sick a lot as a child, but that this should go away in the next day or so,” Eurydice said.

Orpheus nodded. “Yeah, he’s right. I had almost forgotten—haven’t been sick in a while.”

She shrugged. “Could be the seasons changing. Either way, I’m glad this isn’t serious.” Eurydice smirked then and continued to stir the last bits of her soup. “Just give me some warning if you plan on throwing up in my lap anytime soon.”

“Wha—?” Orpheus looked confused for a moment before his eyes suddenly widened in realization. He groaned and collapsed over to hide his face in one of their pillows while Eurydice laughed. 

“Oh Gods, he told you about that?” he said, voice muffled, and cheeks turning red for reasons that had nothing to do with his fever. He sniffled again. “I don’t even remember it happening. He could be lying.” 

Eurydice giggled again, patting her husband’s thigh. She thought briefly about how lucky he was to have a childhood with funny stories and happy memories. “Aw, I thought it was funny.”

Orpheus groaned again in response.

“Come on,” she laughed. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

Orpheus turned his head and looked at her with one eye, smiling slightly. “Yeah?”

Putting her empty bowl aside, Eurydice laid down next to Orpheus and grinned. “Yeah.” 

She traced her fingers from his brow down around his jaw and ran her thumb over his lips, a habit of hers since they’d gotten together. Orpheus, as always, returned the gesture by taking her hand and kissing its palm.

“You’re beautiful, Eurydice. In every way. You’re my world.” He brushed her bangs back from her face. “And thank you for taking care of me like… like this.” 

Eurydice could think of a million ways to tell him the same thing in her head but finding the words that expressed just how much he meant to her was still difficult sometimes. She took a breath and smiled. “Of course, Love. I’ll always take care of you, I think that’s part of being married, right?”

Orpheus nodded. “I think so.”

“And…” Eurydice ran a hand through his hair before tapping his nose. Orpheus beamed. “You’re my world, too.” 

A few moments passed like that in silence, both of them just reveling in having the other close after a long day, until Eurydice noticed Orpheus’ eyelids beginning to droop. Despite sleeping nearly the whole day away, it seemed being sick had still worn him out. Eurydice sat up, then.

“Alright,” she said. “Time for bed, I think.”

Orpheus rubbed at his eyes and nodded in agreement, already yawning. Eurydice gathered their empty bowls and placed them in the sink. She’d wash them tomorrow. From the counter, she also grabbed the medicine she’d picked up and placed it on her nightstand.

As Orpheus got himself comfortable under the covers, Eurydice went to dress in her own pajamas, happy to be out of the jeans and shirt she wore to work and in something more comfortable. As she was pulling on one of Orpheus’ worn t-shirts over her head, she turned to notice her husband watching her.

“Enjoying the show?” she teased.

Orpheus nodded earnestly. “You always wear my shirts to bed. I think you look better in them than I do.”

Eurydice laughed and kneeled on her side of the bed, leaning in towards him, close enough so that their noses brushed. “Hmm, that’s good, since I think you look better without any shirt at all.”

Orpheus’ eyebrows shot up for a moment, mouth open slightly. Then, expression almost serious, he countered, “Hey, I’m sick, remember.”

Eurydice smiled, giggling. “Yeah, you are.” She ruffled his hair. “Here, I almost forgot. I picked this up at the pharmacy on the way home.”

Eurydice handed him the small vile of medicine. “I assume you drink it,” she said, shrugging.

Orpheus unscrewed the top and knocked the medicine back quickly, making a disgusted face as it went down.

“Ugh.” He stuck his tongue out, setting the empty vile aside.

Eurydice climbed under the covers next to Orpheus, settling into his side, head on his chest, as they almost always slept. Throughout the night, they’d probably drift apart, each wanting to cocoon themselves in one of the many blankets that covered their bed, but they’d find their way back to each other. Orpheus might wrap his arms around Eurydice as they both laid on their sides, holding her tight to him, or Eurydice might hold Orpheus as he rested his head on her chest, arms protectively around him so nothing could ever steal him away from her.

Just as they were about to sleep, Orpheus looked at his wife, concerned. “Wait, won’t you be cold in just a shirt?” 

Eurydice shook her head. “Orpheus, with your fever, we hardly even need a fire right now.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He responded, sheepish.

“No, it’s okay,” Eurydice sighed happy, snuggling into him. “You know how much I hate the cold.”

Orpheus yawned and smiled, drowsy from the bath, the soup, and the medicine. “I do.”

“So, I don’t mind at all,” Eurydice said, lifting her head to press a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek. “You’ll keep me warm.”

“Hmm, I will,” Orpheus hummed, already half asleep. Before he dozed off completely, he offered her a quiet, “Love you.”

“Goodnight, Love,” Eurydice whispered to her husband. She watched him as he closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. “I love you, too.”

***

The sun rose again that next morning, and brought with it another frigid winter day, almost identical to the last. This deep into the season, the days seemed to blend together into one, snow-drenched cycle. It’d be another three months before Persephone returned, bringing the spring with her, but at least, the world knew now it would make it until then.

Orpheus was the first of the two lovers to wake that morning. As he did so, he noticed the pain in his back and limbs that he’d felt so acutely yesterday had numbed, and his fever had broken sometime in the night. He shivered slightly, but only because of the sweat that had since cooled on his skin, under his thick sweater. He sighed with relief. It seemed he was on the mend, and quicker than expected, at that. Maybe he could even return to work tonight. The thought of singing again warmed Orpheus, even on that cold morning.

He turned to his wife, who was tucked into his side, legs tangled with his, her head in the space between his chin and his chest, which seemed to be where she was most comfortable. They had shifted throughout the night, but somehow ended up right back where they started when they’d first gone to bed—Eurydice’s head on Orpheus’ chest and his arms around her. He gently brushed away the strands of her hair that had found their way into his mouth and then turned down to kiss the top of her head, feeling Eurydice stir in his arms. He hated to disturb her, but a kiss was a better way to wake up than any other, he figured.

“G’morning, Love,” he whispered, voice still slightly hoarse, but more from sleep than sickness. 

“Hmm.” Eurydice smiled into her husband’s chest, always happy when she woke up in his embrace. He sounded better than yesterday, and he didn’t feel nearly as feverish as he had before. Lifting her head, Eurydice went to respond. Before she could, however, a series of rough coughs wracked her chest and forced them both completely awake. 

“Eurydice!” Orpheus exclaimed, placing a hand on her back as she hacked. “Are you alright? Oh, Gods you—” He was cut off by her coughing, which also prevented her from answering him.

Orpheus looked at her, concern heightening as he took in her dark-rimmed eyes and oddly pallid skin which burned under his touch.

“Love, you look terrible,” he sighed. Even as she coughed, Eurydice glared at him. He winced. “Sorry.”

When the coughing stopped, Eurydice shivered and hugged the covers around her. “Feel terrible,” she conceded.

“Oh Gods, oh no, I got you sick didn’t I,” Orpheus looked to her, face full of regret and a tinge of panic. 

Eurydice shook her head and she started hacking again. “My fault—" _cough_, “didn’t know—" _cough_, “thought Dryads—” _cough,_ “couldn’t get—" _cough_, “sick.”

Orpheus’ wife was rarely wrong about most things, but he guessed this was an exception. He rubbed her back soothingly. Eurydice groaned and buried her head in the covers. She cursed herself for being so stupid—she should have known this would have happened, especially with her luck. She was still half-human, after all.

“Can’t… miss work,” she wheezed, sounding as bad as he did just yesterday.

Orpheus frowned at her. “Well, I think you’re gonna have to. No way am I letting you go to the bar like this. If I didn’t go yesterday, you’re not goin’ today.”

She whined again, petulant.

“Eurydice,” he said, his hand gentle on her shoulder, eyes trying to meet hers, “you’re sick. Will you let me take care of you? Like you took care of me? Please?”

Eurydice gave a raspy sigh. She wasn’t used to this, to being the one who needed looking after, who couldn’t do it on her own. It was fine when it was Orpheus who needed her help… but with her it was different. Even after so much time with him, she still had difficulty giving up that control, letting herself be cared for.

There was no use in hiding it, though—she was sick, that much was apparent and there was also no way her husband was going to let her leave the bed, much less the house, like this.

“But what about y—” she started but was cut off by more coughing.

“I’m fine. Much better, today, actually. No doubt thanks to you.” Orpheus continued to rub her back. “Besides, we know how to handle this, now. I’ll stop off at the market, get some more medicine, some more soup,” he smiled warmly. “And you can stay here, get some rest.”

She looked to him then. There was a softness in Orpheus’ eyes that she was used to but still struck awe in her every time she saw it. No one looked at her like he did, with such love and wonder and openness and goodness. For years, the world had not been kind to Eurydice. It seemed almost impossible that fate would give her someone like Orpheus. Someone who wanted to take care of her, protect her, for no reason other than that he loved her with all his heart. But impossible or not, there he was. 

“Let me take care of you, Eurydice,” Orpheus said again, his voice gentle, maybe even more so than usual. At last, Eurydice nodded, mouthing an_ Okay. _

And so, Orpheus did, and Eurydice let him. She let him dress her in one of his sweaters, and tuck her into their bed with warm blankets and hot tea, knowing that when he got home that night, he’d run a bath and wash the sweat from her body as she had done for him the night before. He’d feed her soup and medicine and rub soothing circles into her back and sing something soft while she drifted off to sleep.

They were lovers, husband and wife, Orpheus and Eurydice. And they’d take care of each other, always. 

**Author's Note:**

> aight!! i have one more fic in the works atm but that prolly won't be posted any time soon bc it's kind of angsty/involved and i won't get around to it for a while with school and all. 
> 
> @waitformereprise/@passionslipsaway on tumblr


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